


It's not what you understand; It's what you crave

by HeadFullOfAliens



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Empath Will Graham, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Mentions of Will Graham/Original Female Character, Season/Series 01, Tagging as I go, Will Finds Out, Will is salty, Will isn't furiously heterosexual, he finds out soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadFullOfAliens/pseuds/HeadFullOfAliens
Summary: "There are means of influence other than violence, but violence is what you understand"
 Will's empathy disorder doesn't allow him to fully appreciate relationships. He thinks they all lack passion; they all lack intensity.He meets Doctor Hannibal Lecter, an interesting psychiatrist who seems too stoic to be passionate at all. But Hannibal proves Will wrong, dragging him into the most intense relationship he's ever had; filled with blood, violence, and death. And pure, beautiful passion.Will doesn't understand violence; he craves it.*Canon divergence. Set at the start of the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: This is going to get intense, and violent, and most likely dark (and do I need to say kinky?).
> 
> Canon divergence. Will refuses to help Jack, and isn't furiously straight. I thought about a s3 kind of Will, one who is already on the way to accepting his dark nature, also slightly more sociable (just slightly). And a faster-to-fall-in-love Hannibal.
> 
> I was listening to In This Moment ('Blood', 'Whore', and 'Adrenalize', primarily), so take that into account. (?) I just wanted to write about Dark Will tbh.
> 
> Also, I 'borrowed' some phrases directly from the show. I do not own Hannibal.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

They were all so boring. So… dull. Tasteless.

He thought she was the one. _Of course_ he had thought she was the one. He always thought that. Long hair and pretty skin, clingy and lovingly affectionate. She knew him. She knew what Will liked, what he had gone through. She knew, and she accepted him. Will knew, too. _Oh_ , did he know.

And even so, the woman was crying in front of him, in the middle of the coffee shop they were always in.

“I feel like you don’t love me,” she whispered between sobs. “You never show me you love me anymore.”

Will bit his lip, considering the woman’s words. He knew her name, of course he knew her name, but in his head she was nothing more than the woman in front of him. Still worrying his lower lip, he reached for the woman’s hair, caressing it softly.

He wasn’t so sure what he should do now. Should he comfort her? Should he promise to be more affectionate? Should he tell her he’s not good for her? Should he break her heart?

Did he love her?

“I’m sorry I’m this way,” he said, sounding sincere; as sincere as he could manage. He wasn’t lying, he _was_ sorry. “You know me,” he added, his hand cupping the woman’s cheek, tilting her head up. She tried to hide behind her hair, her gaze making her look like a confused animal. “You know how I am. I _do_ love you, it’ just…” he caught his lip between his teeth again. “You know how hard it is for me to express my feelings. But I love you.”

He imagined how she must have felt. Broken, lied to. Will had been so caring, so accepting, so comforting. He had accepted all of her flaws, telling her she was still perfect for him, telling her there would never be anyone more beautiful than her. She had trusted him, and Will had betrayed that trust so many times. She felt toyed with.

A tear ran down Will’s cheek, his voice sounding broken around the following streams of “I’m sorry” and “I love you”s. Will was an awful person. He had toyed with her. He’d make her believe she was loved and accepted, just to betray her trust over and over. Will was a monster.

“I’m a monster,” he voiced his thoughts. “You deserve better.”

The woman let out a cry, sobbing uncontrollably, hiding her face behind her hands. “But I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you,” and in that moment, it seemed true. “But maybe this just isn’t going to work.”

“You always say that!” she screamed into her hands, shaking uncontrollably. This time, Will didn’t reach out for her. “Always, always…”

“Then, maybe I’m right, aren’t I?”

The woman gulped, grabbing her phone from the table and standing up. He didn’t look at Will when she said “Don’t ever contact me again,” before running out of the coffee shop.

Will didn’t run after her. The second she was gone he wiped the single tear away, and sat in silence in front of the now two abandoned cups of coffee. The second she was gone, Will’s love was, too. Will’s sadness, Will’s self pity. The second she was gone, Will didn’t think of himself as a monster.

He glared coldly at the few people around, considering. He truly felt nothing. Was he a psychopath? Was he unable to love? But then again, he did feel like he loved her, even if it was just when she had been in front of him. He had felt her sadness, her love, her betrayal. Will had felt the same, looking at her tear-stained face.

He sighed. Maybe this just wasn’t for him. Love wasn’t for him. He couldn’t understand that passion; wanting to die for someone, wanting to kill for someone, wanting to protect someone at all costs, to make them happy no matter what. He understood his partners, because they were easy to understand. He made them happy because he could tell what they wanted, what they needed from him, and Will had little regard towards his own needs, always adapting to the other one.

The gust of wind slapping his face as the door of the coffee shop flung open made him remember the woman had his jacket. _Fuck_ , he thought. At least the cold was a feeling he could understand, something that _did_ feel real.

He considered his own cold cup of coffee, not so sure if he should leave. He hadn’t much to do right now, but he didn’t have anything else to do at that place, for that matter.

He was about to get up when someone sat in front of him.

“Pardon the intromission,” a man said, “but all tables are occupied now.”

Will looked around him, and saw that they indeed were. The place was still relatively empty, but every table was occupied by one person. He sighed. Sitting in front of him was as good as sitting in front of any other person in the room, he thought. He nodded towards the man, acknowledging his words. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking down at his hands.

“It’s not occupied,” he murmured, considering to leave the table all for the man in front of him. He didn’t need to look up to see the man nodding.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” the man introduced himself, probably waiting for Will to do the same. Will wasn’t so sure he wanted to socialize right now.

“I’m Will,” he said, “Graham.”

“The Will Graham? The one who wrote the monograph on time of death by insect activity?”

Will chuckled. “Can’t say that I’m familiarized with your work, Mr. Lecter.”

“Doctor Lecter,” he corrected him.

“Doctor Lecter,” he echoed, raising his eyebrows. He looked up to get a glance of the man’s face. Sharp cheekbones and red amber eyes, a smug look to his otherwise vacant expression. He looked away to the cup in the doctor’s hands. “On medicine?”

“You may call me Hannibal,” the man said, the hint of a smile on his face. There for a second, then gone. Will was getting a little bit weirded out by the man in front of him. “I am a psychiatrist.”

“Oh,” Will nodded, suddenly understanding the situation. _So that’s what this is_ , he thought. “Did Jack send you?”

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Will shrugged as all reply. “I’m afraid I don’t know which Jack you’re referring to, Will.”

Will drummed his fingers on the table, considering for a moment to throw the cold cup of coffee to the good doctor’s face, just to see his expression change meaningfully. “So you’re not here to lure me in?”

“Unless you mean lure you into having another cup of coffee, then no.”

He nodded. “You could have sat with any other person around here. Why me?”

“Had I sat with anyone else, they could have very well asked me the same,” Hannibal replied. “I could ask why you have two cups of coffee in front of you, none of them finished.”

He leaned back into his chair, looking at the man’s perfectly combed hair to give the illusion of eye contact. “You could.”

“I will, then,” the man half-smiled. “Why?”

“I was dumped about ten minutes ago,” he replied, smiling bitterly. “She left without finishing her coffee.”

“How rude.”

He chuckled. “Can’t blame her.”

“You don’t look particularly upset about it.”

“You don’t know how I look when I’m particularly upset,” he sighed. “But you’re right. I’m not upset, really.”

“Does that upset you?”

He laughed, earning a smile back from the doctor. “Yeah,” he admitted, “It does.”

“Why do you think it does?”

He pursed his lips, looking down at the man’s almost non-existent eyebrows. “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

Hannibal crossed his legs, leaning back against his own seat. “You are quite the subject of interest around a lot of my colleagues,” he replied. “However, no, I am not. I was simply trying to help you understand yourself better.”

“Ain’t it the same?” he muttered. “What do they say?”

Hannibal shrugged. “I never stopped to listen. I am only aware of it because I’ve read your monograph, so I recognized the name when some of them mentioned it.”

“I can only imagine what they must be saying,” he said, scratching his stubble. “No one can decide if it’s Aspergers or autism,” he chuckled. “Or if I’m just a psycho.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s none of their business,” Hannibal hummed in agreement. “Whatever it is, they think I’m too unstable for… anything.”

“You mentioned a Jack,” Hannibal remembered, “and being lured in. How are these two related?”

“I teach at Quantico,” he said, voice tired. “And Jack Crawford wants me to assist in some…” a vague gesture with his hand, “Investigations.”

“Crimes?” Will nodded. “Yet you refuse.”

“I don’t need to get my head into that again,” he gulped. “If you wanna know why it upsets me I’m not upset, it’s probably related to that. Can’t feel much on your own when all you can feel is other people’s feelings.”

“You can think like a criminal,” the doctor deduced.

“I can think like anybody.”

“Pure empathy,” the smile that crossed Doctor Lecter’s face finally seemed like a meaningful one. “Quite a burden it must be.”

“Tell me about it,” he let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t tell whether I love someone, or if it’s just their own feelings reflected by me.”

“The second she left, you no longer loved her,” Will nodded. “You have the potential to be the perfect partner for anyone. Reflect what they want, understand what they need. Yet you can’t look at someone’s eyes. They eventually find out it’s merely their own reflection loving them back,” he hummed. “Quite the interesting condition.”

“Well, I’m not just gonna let you… probe my brain around,” he grimaced, intending to get up, stopped by Hannibal’s hand on his. He looked down at the touch, frowning.

“I did not intend to do that. We could simply socialize,” he suggested, drawing his hand back to him, “Like adults.”

Will sat back. “I don’t find you that interesting.”

“Did you find that woman interesting?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Yet you dated her.”

He chuckled. “Are you asking me out, Doctor Lecter?” the smile on the doctor’s face as Will finally met his eyes made him want to look away, yet he found he couldn’t. “’Cause if so, you already know what you’re getting yourself into. Not sure you wanna go through all that,” he paused, before adding: “Not sure you want to date someone who teaches about murderers and most likely will end being forced to think like one soon.”

Hannibal let out a slight laugh, his pointed teeth peeking out for a second. “You seem to be refusing.”

“To date you?” he replied, grinning. “I just pointed out I’m not the best catch.”

“I meant to let Jack Crawford drag you back to the field.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he bit his lip. “Is that a ‘no’ to dating, then?” when Hannibal just smiled at him, he continued. “I’d think about it,” he said, licking his lips, “if you prove to be interesting enough.”

“Quite the challenge,” the man smiled. “I’ll gladly take it. Allow me to be your friend in the meantime.”

Will shrugged. “Won’t hurt to let you. Sure.”

He didn’t miss the way Hannibal’s eyes narrowed for a millisecond. 

*

The doctor’s house was quite imposing, Will thought. He had been invited over for dinner, but now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to ring the bell. He was a bit earlier, not having been able to manage his anxiety making him drive there sooner than he was meant to. He looked at his wrist to see how early he was, but he found he carried no watch.

He brushed a curl away from his face before taking a step forward, immediately retreating back. The door opened in front of him before he could decide to run away, revealing a man in a three-piece suit. Dark, with barely noticeable patterns, and a purple handkerchief neatly folded.

“Hi, Doctor Lecter,” he stuttered, suddenly feeling underdressed. He felt ridiculous with his plaid shirt and his cream-colored sweater. He saw the man looking him up and down, feeling too self-conscious. He knew he shouldn’t have come.

“I must insist, call me Hannibal,” the man said, finally looking at Will’s face, smiling ever-so-slightly. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, I…” he scratched his neck awkwardly. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to drive all the way here, so,” he shrugged.

“Come in.”

The house was even more imposing inside, all lavish decorations and dark atmospheres. He tried to ignore his surroundings as he followed Hannibal to a white-walled room he recognized as the kitchen. He pressed his hands against a stainless-steel table that oddly reminded him of an autopsy table, as Hannibal walked to the kitchen counter.

“I’m afraid dinner’s not ready yet,” he said, passing the counter and walking towards his enormous fridge. Will found he suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Can I help with something?”

“You may sit,” Hannibal gestured towards a couch next to the entrance, not looking away from the fridge, “and have a glass of wine. Or do you prefer beer?”

“Wine’s fine,” he said, sitting down on the wood-coloured couch. It felt so comfortable it made Will uncomfortable. He shifted awkwardly, stilling as Hannibal walked towards him, offering him a glass of wine. He took it, smiling gratefully. He smelled the wine; _oh_ , it smelled _expensive_. Will almost felt guilty taking a sip of it.

“So, tell me,” Hannibal said, busying himself pouring things Will wasn’t paying attention to into a saucepan, mixing them and putting the pan to the fire. “Why did it end for Miss Not Interesting?”

Will snorted, close to chuckling. “I don’t know. She told me she felt I didn’t love her.”

“Didn’t you?” Hannibal didn’t look at him even once, too focused on whatever the hell he was cooking.

“I didn’t, I guess,” he shrugged, suddenly wanting to down the whole glass of wine at once. He stopped himself, taking just a sip, clicking his tongue. “I was reflecting, wasn’t I?”

“You could be hiding behind your empathy disorder,” Hannibal commented, walking to the oven, taking out something that made Will’s mouth water with its delicious smell. “Telling yourself you don’t love her, that it’s only your empathy talking.”

“That smells delicious,” he couldn’t help to say. Hannibal smiled smugly, his attention returning to the saucepan. “Why would I do that?”

“Most people are afraid to love,” he replied, “They’re afraid they’ll get hurt. Love is quite an intense feeling; acting on it is a trust fall game that could go wrong easily. You put yourself, and all of what you are in someone else’s hands, hoping they won’t tear you apart.”

“Tearing apart sounds nicer,” Will murmured, thoughtful. “I’d prefer that. At least, that way I would know I’m feeling something.”

“You’re not afraid of the intensity of such an experience, then.”

Will shook his head. “No, I’m more concerned about not feeling anything. No intensity in my experiences, so far.”

“Perhaps you haven’t been properly loved.”

Will ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at the accented words, focusing instead on the way Hannibal sliced the meat. “Oh, I have. All sorts of ways,” he shrugged “All of them have failed to impress me.”

The doctor smiled, amused. “You have been loved with burning passion, yet you failed to mirror that.”

“I didn’t fail to mirror it. I just didn’t feel it myself. It didn’t reach me; seemed just as dull as the rest of them.”

“You crave to feel something as intense.”

Will clicked his tongue. “I’ve begun to believe there’s just no such thing. I’m just too demanding.”

“You can never be too demanding. Not where love is concerned,” with a glance, Will was gestured to help Hannibal. He stood up and grabbed the wine bottle and another glass, additional to his own. He followed Hannibal to the dining room. “Or so I like to think.”

Will sat opposite to the garden wall, looking around the cobalt blue room. He saw snow falling outside of the glass door to his left. He smiled when Hannibal put a plate in front of him, thanking him with a whisper.

“Loin, served with a Cumberland sauce of red fruits,” Hannibal explained, pouring some of said sauce over the meat. He sat opposite to Will.

“No offense,” he began, “but you don’t strike me as the passionate type.”

Hannibal laughed briefly, pouring wine into his own glass. “I would like to think I am,” he said, stopping to scent the wine before taking a sip. “I am, at the very least, passionate about cooking.”

Will suddenly felt like he didn’t know how to eat. Most of his meals consisted of whiskey and takeout; he felt like he didn’t know how to handle silverware anymore. Trying not to convey his anxiety, he took the fork and the knife, cutting a small portion of the meat, bringing the fork to his mouth.

He moaned around his fork. “God, this is delicious,” he hummed appreciatively once more. Hannibal gave him an amused look before eating as well. “Okay, I’ll give you that – You’re passionate about cooking. How do you even get to be this good?”

“I used to be a surgeon,” he commented, looking at Will as he took another bite. “When I stopped practicing, I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts.”

Will hummed. “Why did you stop? One dead patient?” he guessed. “That’s expected to happen, isn’t it?”

“Yes, especially in ER,” he nodded, “but I’m afraid it was one too many.”

“So you transferred to psychiatry.”

Hannibal nodded. “What about you, Will? How did you find your way into Quantico’s teaching program?”

“Used to be a detective,” he murmured, not so sure he wanted to talk about that. “Ended up teaching ‘cause I couldn’t pull the trigger when I needed to.”

“Were you afraid?”

Will white-knuckled the knife, lowering his eyes to his plate. “You’re psychoanalyzing me again.”

“Do forgive me,” Hannibal said, “I can’t shut mine any more than you can shut yours.”

He allowed himself to relax a little, sighing. “I guess… I felt like a deer dumbstruck by headlights, unable to move. I’ve seen that look a lot lately, directed to me.”

“How so?”

“She… looked at me like that, for a moment,” he mumbled, eyes lost somewhere in the table, remembering. “Like a shocked deer.”

“I take it you didn’t find her passion appealing.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t. Too soft.”

“Then perhaps you’re focusing on the wrong demographic,” Hannibal offered. “It is something I mildly disagree with, but men are said to be less soft.”

This time, Will laughed. “Oh, I’ve dated men before,” he replied, tone amused. “It might be less soft sometimes, but the problem’s pretty much the same.”

Hannibal nodded. “Do you like hunting, Will?”

“I like fishing,” he answered. “Why?”

“Hunting can be quite a passionate experience,” he said. “Perhaps, if you can’t find that in love, you could find it somewhere else. I started hunting deer when I was quite young.”

“You still do?” Hannibal nodded. “I’m not so sure,” he murmured, thoughtful. “I didn’t pull the trigger ‘cause I was afraid I’d get a taste for it,” he joked. Or at least, he expected Hannibal would see it as a joke. “Not sure I wanna get a taste for deer hunting.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched in a smile Will almost missed. “I could teach you how to.”

Will smiled coyly. “I’ll take that into consideration.” 

They ate what was left in silence. Will helped Hannibal clean when they were both done, carrying dishes to the kitchen sink. He meant to start washing them, but Hannibal stopped him, offering him another glass of wine instead.

“I’m not sure I should drink this much,” he said, taking the glass reluctantly. “I still have to drive back home.”

“Stay here over the night,” Hannibal offered, “Or let me drive you home.”

Will took a sip of wine, considering. “Can’t stay, I have work tomorrow,” Will hesitated before adding: “Wouldn’t mind letting you drive me home, though. But my car…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hannibal smiled, “You can come for it later.”

Will nodded. “Thanks.”

“So,” Hannibal began, stepping closer to Will, “am I still utterly uninteresting?”

Will laughed nervously, a part of him wanting to step back. He forced himself to stay in place, looking up to Hannibal’s face. He felt dizzy for a moment, under Hannibal’s intense scrutiny. “No,” he said, “No, you’re beginning to seem interesting.”

Hannibal smiled. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets interested in the copycat killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few gory descriptions going on in here. Also, quite close to canon haha.

“Everyone has thought about killing someone, one way or another, be it your own hand of the hand of God.”

Thinking hadn’t been all he had done about it, and that little fact bugged him during the whole class. Jack coming to him afterwards had only served to fuel his nervousness. Will felt observed, like Jack knew what he had done, that little mistake, and what had passed through his mind. As he forced eye contact, he felt as though Jack could see what kind of person Will was.

He had refused to help, not able to stand the scrutiny of the man. He had allowed Jack to walk him through the case, but refused to go with him to interview the parents. He stated quite clearly he didn’t want to get involved; Jack had other people, anyway.

Just a day later, the man was screaming at him as Will tried to make his way out of Quantico.

“She was found dead, in her own room!” Jack kept screaming at him, as Will walked faster. “Dead! That’s eight girls, Will! Eight! How many more will it take until you realize you gotta help?!”

Will walked into the bathrooms. Jack followed him.

“We need to talk,” Will looked at him briefly, wincing at the man’s angry expression. “Do you respect me, Will?” he nodded. “’Cause we have a better chance to catch this lunatic with you.”

Will pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, a headache starting to bloom. “What do you want me to do?”

“Look at the body,” Jack said, voice tense, “And tell me all you can think about.”

“I already did,” Will muttered. “I looked at the pictures. You told me she was strangled. I told you this… killer, he’s – he’s… replacing something.”

“Well, is Elise Nichols our golden ticket?”

“No, she’s… she’s an apology.”

“An apology? A killer, apologizing? For what?”

“He – He couldn’t honor her; he feels bad.”

“A psychopath doesn’t feel bad.”

“I know!” he was getting exasperated. He didn’t want to talk about this. He ran his hand through his hair, pacing around the room, trying to keep it together. “He’s not a psychopath.”

“Then what kind of crazy is he?!”

“He couldn’t show her he loved her, so he put her back where he found her. The… The antler velvet promotes healing. He was trying to undo as much damage as possible, given that he’d already killed her.”

“You think he loves these girls.”

“One of them, at least. And yes, I guess, by association, he has some sort of love for the others.”

“He loved them,” Jack repeated, his lips forming a thin line. “We found no traces of sexual abuse, Will. No semen, no saliva, no nothing. Elise Nichols died a virgin!”

“No, no, not that way! He wouldn’t disrespect them that way!” he was starting to get nauseous. But Jack kept pushing, and pushing; Will knew he wouldn’t be left alone until Jack got whatever it is he wanted. “He kills them quickly, and with mercy.”

“Sensitive psychopath,” Jack snorted. “Risked getting caught so he could tuck Elise Nichols back to bed.”

“He has to take another girl soon,” Will muttered, voice shaky, “’cause he knows he’s gonna get caught.”

Jack nodded. “Then help me catch this lunatic, before he takes the next one.”

Will looked at him, feeling anxiety climbing up his chest. He didn’t want to. He knew he’d have to see the body, he’d have to get into this killer’s mind. He didn’t want to. He was afraid of losing himself to this man. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to distinguish himself apart from the killer.

He sighed. There was no way out of this. He’d have to go through the weirded-out stares of the forensics team, and Jack’s constant yelling.

*

As soon as he was free from corpses and people-eating people, he went straight to Hannibal’s house. He knocked, fidgeting with his clothes, restless. The picture of Elise Nichols mounted on the antlers just wouldn’t get out of his head. The picture of himself strangling her was almost as strong, too.

The door opened, and Will was greeted by the surprised expression of the doctor in front of him.

“Will,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect you to come back this soon.”

Will smiled nervously. He had been here to pick up his car just yesterday. “Yeah,” he said, scratching his neck. “I… I thought I’d come by, just to thank you.”

“Come in,” Hannibal said, stepping back so Will could get inside. He closed the door behind them, guiding Will to the dining room. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

“Just,” Will shrugged, sitting next to the head of the table, “For… For dinner, last time. I didn’t thank you, not even yesterday; I was in such a hurry…”

“It’s alright,” the man answered, disappearing for a second before returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “There is no need to thank me; it was my pleasure. Tell me, how was your day? You seem preoccupied.”

Will glanced down at his hands, gulping. “Yeah, guess you could say that.”

“Did you agree to help Jack?”

Will nodded. “I’m not sure you want to talk about it. It’s… not a nice thing to talk about,” he grimaced.

“You look like you need to talk about it,” Hannibal said, pouring wine into Will’s glass, then into his own. “I assure you, it is no problem to me.”

Will picked his glass up, looking at the dark red liquid, considering. It looked like blood. Will took a sip, the picture of himself drinking Nichols’ blood suddenly invading him. He put the glass back down, almost too forcefully. Hannibal gave him a curious look.

“I don’t need to talk about it, I need…” he bit his lip, nervous. Why had he come here? Why had he thought it was a good idea to come to the man he had only met twice?

He looked up to his face. He sighed, getting up abruptly. He knew why he had come.

He circled the table, taking Hannibal’s glass away from him, putting it on the table. His hands went to the man’s shoulders, and Will straddled him in his chair. Before he could think about it, his hands went to Hannibal’s neck. No pressure; he just rested his hands there, leaning in, kissing the man softly.

Hannibal took some time to respond. When his lips finally moved against Will’s, he sighed, kissing him more intensely. He felt his breath hitching up, his heart strangely calm, like a sedative was running through his veins. He bit Hannibal’s lower lip hard, drawing blood. He licked it away, his hands putting slight pressure, just enough so he could feel Hannibal’s pulse under his fingers.

Hannibal’s hands went to his hips. “Will,” he muttered quietly, breaking the kiss. “You’re…”

“What?” Will asked, confusedly looking at Hannibal’s strange expression. He looked like… like he couldn’t breathe. His pulse was erratic, and his face was turning slightly darker.

Will’s eyes widened, his hands immediately releasing the man’s neck. He stumbled backwards, trying to get away, his back hitting the edge of the table. “I’m – I’m sorry, I – “ he blinked a couple of times, trying to make the marks of his hands in Hannibal’s neck fade away. He knew they weren’t real. He was imagining them. There’s no way he –

Hannibal was panting, trying to recover his breath. Will backed away from the chair, frowning, confused. What was he doing? Why–?

“I need to go,” he muttered, before running to the door of the doctor’s house. He didn’t look back; he got into his car, started the engine, and drove away as fast as he could.

What had just happened?

*

When Jack got him out of class the next day, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t calm, either, but he hoped he wasn’t conveying that.

“So you got someone to help you with the psychological profile,” Will said, walking along Jack. “Is it Alana?” he asked, his mouth twitching. He didn’t like her; he knew she wanted to get close, to make Will trust her just so she could analyse him. 

“No,” Jack said, holding the glass door open to let Will in. “This is Dr. Lecter,” he introduced, motioning towards the man who was now standing up to greet him.

Will froze. Not only was he very much familiar with the man in front of him; he was wearing a scarf, too. Will’s eyes widened in surprise as Hannibal extended a hand to him.

“I believe we’ve met already,” he said, a charming smile adorning his features. Will shook his hand, barely managing to make his body react.

“Oh, you know each other?” Jack asked, not seeming too interested. He sat behind his desk, as Hannibal sat back in front of it. Will sat next to him a few seconds later, when he finally managed to make his legs work.

“We met by coincidence, in a coffee shop,” Hannibal said, nodding. “Quite a pleasant evening,” he turned to Will. 

“Is that so,” Jack murmured, distracted, looking through some papers. “Twenty dozen confessions, no details, until this morning. Some kid took photos of the crime scene, and Freddie Lounds posted them to Tattlecrime dot com.”

“Tasteless.”

Hannibal smiled. “Do you have trouble with taste?”

Will looked down at his hands, his jaw clenching. “My thoughts are often… not tasty,” he said, smiling bitterly.

“Nor are mine. No effective barriers.”

“I build forts,” he replied. Were they going to pretend nothing had happened? Or perhaps Hannibal wanted to wait until Jack was away. Or maybe, Will thought, they just wouldn’t interact anymore. The thought shouldn’t have made him that upset, but it did.

“Associations come quickly.”

“So do forts,” he couldn’t help the rough edge of his voice. He didn’t want to be there. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“I imagine everything you learn and see touches everything else in your mind,” Hannibal said, before Will could completely focus on the papers Jack was handing him. “Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations. Appalled in your dreams. No forts inside your mind for things you love.”

“Whose profile are you working on?” Will asked, frowning, feeling close to snapping. If he kept on talking, Will was going to stand up and leave. What did he think he was doing, talking so openly about him in front of Jack? He turned to the latter. “Whose profile is he working on?”

“I apologize, Will,” the doctor said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Force of habit; observing is what we do, after all.”

“Please,” he said to Jack, “Don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“Will.”

“Now, if you excuse me, I have to go give a lecture,” he said, standing up. He turned to Hannibal, “on psychoanalyzing.”

He got out quickly, walking away as fast as he could. He couldn’t believe what had just happened; that guy, _Hannibal_ specifically, had been hired to profile him. Of all people, Jack had managed to find the one person Will had told a little about himself to. Now he could just tell him everything; tell him how fucked up his mind was, tell him how much of a monster his ‘empathy disorder’ turned him into.

He bit his tongue not to scream as he walked back to his classroom.

*

Next day couldn’t have started any better; another body. Not two days had passed since Elise Nichols had been found, and there was another body already. Will couldn’t believe his luck.

 _The Minnesota Shrike_ , they were calling him, not aware this was definitely not the same man who had tucked Nichols back to bed.

“Not sure if it’s sloppy, or shrewd,” Will was vaguely listening to the others, walking around the body. No, not the body; the _piece_. This was a piece of art; a painting.

“He wanted her to be found this way,” he said. “It’s petulant. He’s mocking her. Or…” he snorted, “Or us.”

“Where did all his love go?”

“Whoever tucked Elise Nichols back to bed didn’t paint this picture.”

“He… took her lungs. I’m – I’m pretty sure she was still breathing when he did.”

 _Interesting,_ he thought, crouching to take a better look. He bit back a smile, looking up to see Jack, noticing all eyes were on him. Had he said that out loud?

He settled to describing what he thought, hoping that would distract them. He started walking away, hoping he had said enough so he wouldn’t be bothered again. 

“But what about the copycat?” Jack stopped him.

“You know, an intelligent psychopath – Especially a sadistic one – is really hard to catch. No motive, there’ll be no patterns… He might never kill this way again,” he stopped, sighing. “Have doctor Lecter make a psychological profile. You seemed very impressed with him,” he snorted, turning his back to Jack, finally leaving.

*

Hours later, when the sun was down, he couldn’t stop thinking about the copycat. This… artist, had painted such a picture that Will had been able to perfectly see the actual killer. So he had intimate knowledge of the crimes, he though. Maybe even understood the killer.

Taking a shower, he tried to determine, how likely was it that this man had a partner in crime? No, it couldn’t be – No point in pretending to kill your daughter and have someone else watch, or even help. Even less of a point in mocking the cops on behalf of your partner.

So just someone with an understanding of the killer’s mind, Will thought, as he prepared to go to bed. Someone like him, capable of getting inside the minds of others.

Or maybe Will had just been lucky to suddenly connect all of these things together, and the copycat was nothing more than, well, a _copycat_. Nevertheless, he couldn’t sleep that night. When someone knocked to the door of the room he was staying in, he wasn’t even surprised the sun was already up.

He got up without bothering to dress up; it was probably Jack. He would simply make him go away, he thought as he opened the door.

“Good morning, Will,” he was greeted by no one else than good doctor Lecter. “May I come in?”

Will looked behind Hannibal, expecting to see someone else. “Where’s Crawford?” he asked when he found no one, confused. Why would he come alone to visit him, after what Will had done?

“Deposed in court. It’s just you and me, today,” he smiled. “May I come in?”

Will gulped, looking around. He didn’t want to be alone with the man.

He sighed, after hesitating for a few seconds, stepping back to let the man in. He went to look for his clothes, putting them in quickly as Hannibal told him something about nutrition he didn’t pay attention to. When he turned back, the man had settled the tiny plastic table of the room for breakfast.

 _Oh, nice,_ Will thought. He would have stopped to analyse the man’s behaviour, and why he seemed to insist in feeding him, had he not been too hungry to argue.

He sat down in front of him, accepting the plate and cutlery handed to him. Scrambled eggs. He smiled, taking some of it with his fork.

“This is delicious,” he muttered, forgetting for a second about his sudden disdain for the man, “Thank you.”

“I would apologize for my analytical ambush,” Hannibal said, “but I soon would be apologizing again, and you’ll tire of it quickly, so I have to consider keeping apologies for special occasions.”

“Just keep it professional.”

Hannibal seemed amused by Will’s answer. Will thanked him mentally for not adding anything else, although he could tell the doctor wanted to. And how could he not? Just a few days ago, Will had tried to choke him while kissing him. He felt himself blush at the thought.

“Jack Crawford tells me you have a knack for monsters.”

“You already knew that,” Will replied, wanting to add more but biting it back. “I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field,” he added, changing the subject.

“What gave it away?”

“Everything,” he scowled. “It – It was practically gift-wrapped, like he had to show me the negative so I could see the positive.”

Hannibal nodded. “He helped you understand the killer better. Tell me, Will, do you understand him now?”

Will shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“What kind of problems does he have?”

“Oh, he has a few.”

“Do you have any problems, Will?”

Will faked an offended expression, looking at Hannibal. _Like you don’t know that already,_ he wanted to say. “No,” he denied instead.

“Problem free, just like me,” Hannibal smiled, and Will looked at him with a puzzled expression. What did he mean by that? “You know, I think Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup.”

“Easy to break,” Will added, grimacing. “Well, I’m not. Anyway, about the Shrike,” he changed the subject again, “I’m not that interested in him. Not as much as I am in the copycat.”

“An intelligent psychopath,” Hannibal mused, “or perhaps an attention-seeker.”

Will shook his head. “No, no, he’s too… clever, to be that. He’s – He’s an _artist_ ,” he smiled faintly, “Or he considers himself one,” he added, realizing he must have sounded like a fan.

“What do you think of him?” Hannibal asked. “Do you think you have any idea as to what his pathology might be?”

“You said it yourself already,” Will shrugged. “He’s… He’s careful. He knew about Elise Nichols.”

“A Tattlecrime fan, then.”

“Not just that. He understood the killer. He… He saw this girl as inferior, like she was a pig. But he knew the Shrike didn’t think of the others that way.”

“You said this cannibal loves women.”

“He does,” Will nodded. “The copycat saw them as meat, and nothing else.”

“A misogynist, then.”

Will shook his head. “Not necessarily. I’d bet he sees everyone like that.”

“You seem quite intrigued by this man,” Hannibal said, a serious look on his face. Will leaned back against his chair, readying himself for the upcoming analysis. He wanted it to be over already. “Tell me, Will, what is it about this killer that fascinates you so much?”

“He’s an artist,” Will muttered. “Why? Are you jealous, Dr. Lecter?”

“Am I?” Will didn’t miss Hannibal’s flirtatious smile. He returned it. Hannibal looked at his watch. “I believe we have some inquiries to take care of. Finish your breakfast.”

*

Hannibal seemed all too happy to ‘peek behind the curtains’, as he had said. He said he was happy, too, about getting to see Will working. Will had dismissed his comment with some other flirtatious one as they both looked through the documents of the construction site’s workers. As soon as they found something remotely of interest, they drove away from there and to one of the workers’ house.

He didn’t imagine the awful turn of events that would follow as they parked outside Hobbs’ house. The first thing that warned him was the front door suddenly flung open, a woman with a slashed throat falling outside the house. Will ran towards her, crouching, trying to stop the blood leaving her body in violent pulses. He looked away, not wanting to see the woman’s last breath leave her body.

He got up on wobbly legs, holding his gun, kicking the door until it gave in and opened. His breath shaking, he got in, searching for the man he knew was responsible for all the murders. When he found him, at the kitchen, his daughter under his grip with a knife to her throat, he yelled the man’s name.

Suddenly, everything became blurry. Will knew he had to pull the trigger, and he did, steadying his breathing as he shot three times to the dark shape of the man in front of him. Three shots weren’t enough, though, so Will fired again, and again and again, bringing the dark thing to the ground. Antlers grew from its formless head.

“See?” it whispered to him in a voice Will didn’t recognize as human. “See?”

Will looked at the blank expression of the dark figure, lifeless. He looked down at his own hands, the sight of blood making him dizzy. Memories began flooding his brain with pictures he didn’t want to remember.

He struggled to focus, to bring himself back to the present. He knew there was something else, something he had to take care of, but he couldn’t remember. He looked around him, and saw the corpse of the girl killed by the copycat. She stared at him as though he blamed him, as she was once more thrown into the head of the stag, antlers piercing her body.

Will stepped back, legs trembling, his head hurting like hell. “Hannibal,” he tried to call, his vision getting blurry, but nobody came. Two more steps back, and his back hit something. He dropped his gun, his vision going completely black.

He fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from here on, this completely deviates from canon! Whilist this chapter has been quite similar to the first episode, the next ones won't follow the show's plot at all (I mean, besides the murder husbands thing??).
> 
> Is Will going mad? Let's see how he deals with it all this time. Next chapter is almost finished, so I'll post it soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on [Tumblr!](http://headfullofaliens.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by three amazing fanvids to write this. You should check them out! ([Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsrU-bvEub4), [Whore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvaRkvZ8DUE), [Adrenalize](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vcb9fBCBnnU)). All credits to the amazing creator of these videos, of course!
> 
> You can yell at me on [Tumblr!](http://headfullofaliens.tumblr.com/) (please don't actually yell at me)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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